Label
by january sunshine
Summary: A little oneshot about Quillsh Wammy retrieving a new orphan from Moscow, and it proves to be a bit of a challenge.


I wrote this a while ago, but for some reason, when I wrote it, I didn't like it, then I reread it and it peaked my interests, so I figured I'd post it.

It's some odd oneshot of Quillsh picking up his first orphan M.

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**Label**

**_By Darkness Princess _**

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Quillsh Wammy hadn't known what he was going to receive when he arrived at the Moscow Orphanage. He had received a call three days ago regarding a brilliant Russian child. He was fluent in Russian and English and worked on long division and crosswords in his spare time. Currently, he had been seen dabbling in physics books and finding effective methods to reach the higher shelves in the library. Mr. Wammy wanted to meet him immediately, ready to extend an offering for the boy to be transferred to his orphanage in London. 

Upon his phone call about the child, he had been immediately warned of "behavioral tendencies" the boy happened to have. He had a habit of climbing into places where some often needed ladders to reach him. He shoved, pushed, and taunted the other children, sometimes making the older ones cry. He took his frustrations out on other things, sometimes even himself, last seen clawing at his skin when pulled away from destroying the chinaware in the kitchen. The boy didn't listen to authority or do as he was told, and his behavior regressed often around punishments. He wasn't the type to listen; the only good point, it seemed, was his talent for absorbing knowledge.

Wammy wanted to meet this child anyway. So he took a plane to Russia a few days later and soon strolled down the rather large driveway, arriving at the doorway. He only had a vague description of the boy he would meet: the child wasn't very tall, but unnaturally thin; his skin had few traces of color yet its paleness contrasted against the vibrant golden shade of his hair and dark eyes. Yet only coming to the door, he happened to see the boy in question, running rather quickly across the lawn, a woman chasing after him.

"Mihael!" she screamed, yet the boy continued to run from her.

He wore the uniform of the orphanage; his shirt was white, but not as clean for it had dirt stains about the front, and his pants were tan slacks, though the knees were stained green and brown. His feet lacked shoes and socks. His hair was blonde, golden in the sun, messy yet flipped once underneath at the ends in a girly manner. When he turned to look at Wammy, the man could see an unnatural intensity radiating from his dark orbs.

The boy fell, making a small "oomf!" as he collapsed on the ground, arms falling in front of him in a failed attempt to keep him from the ground. Upon scuffling to rise again, the woman's hand grasped his wrist tightly, and she roughly tugged him to his feet. As he struggled to free himself from her grasp, she frowned and began to brush at his clothing, though it was a futile attempt. The stains needed to be washed out.

"Mihael, we've discussed this. You _cannot_ keep sneaking out during indoor playtime!" she scolded him in English, leading the fighting child toward the building's front doors again. As she looked away from the child in her grip, her eyes landed on Wammy and she smiled.

"Mister Watari, hello! I didn't think you'd be arriving so early!" she greeted with a smile. "I'm Melinda Belanov. Welcome to Moscow."

"Hello, Miss Belanov, a pleasure to meet you." He smiled sweetly to the young social worker, and soon glanced down to the still-struggling child. "And this must be young Mihael..."

The boy stopped struggling, a dark look in his even darker eyes as he paused, both hands in tiny fists near his head. He glared at Mr. Wammy for a minute or two before soon lifting his hand to his mouth, sucking on his middle and third finger childishly. His eyes glanced down, and he seemed to calm immediately, as if upset and recoiling. Mr. Wammy blinked behind his optical wear and observed the child, until Miss Belanov led him inside, to the supervisor of the orphanage, Anya Mayorsky, a plump, middle-aged woman with rather unhappy expression lines forming on her face. As he began his conversation with the supervisor, the social worker exited with the child.

"Nice to meet you, Miss Mayorsky," Mr. Wammy spoke with a small smile as he took a seat. "Now, we both know the reason I am here..."

"Yes, yes, Mister Watari," she replied, nodding. "I do have to ask you, are you _sure_ you want to take him off our hands? He has been the most troublesome I have seen during _all_ of my years at this orphanage."

Quillsh nodded. "I most likely won't be able to understand the child's difficult behavior until I've talked with him myself. He truly doesn't seem so difficult."

Anya gave a sarcastic laugh as she leaned back in her chair. "We've tried psychological counseling, yet he acts completely normal around them. He knows when to behave and how it affects him. This is his seventh orphanage."

"How long has he been in the system?"

"Four months."

Quillsh couldn't help but laugh when he heard this. It sounded unbelievable, that such a young child could have so much pent-up frustration and anger management problems. The sound of something shattering outside of the room had both of them turning to look toward the doorway. A child began crying. Soon, the phone in Anya's office began to ring and she answered.

"Yes, Malkov?" Her eyes widened a few seconds later. "Okay. Keep him still, I'll be there shortly." She hung up the phone and rose. "Mister Watari, if you'll follow me, please. He's having another one of his... fits."

A fit was a rather euphemistic way of describing the violent rage happening in the front hall. The small blonde boy from earlier stood on a chair, a few of his shirt buttons opened as he glared at the floor, at the many pieces of glass spread about a bright orange puddle. His right hand, the one he had been sucking on earlier, was held up, his two fingers bleeding from shallow puncture marks caused by his teeth. As Melinda tried to approach him, he'd yell at her at the top of his lungs and threaten to throw himself to the ground.

"As you can see, Mister Watari... this is Mihael. He does this almost daily, it's quite a hassle; often, there are broken items, and it gets difficult trying to manage keeping him from causing such a threat to the other children." Anya sighed and took a step forward. "Mihael, stop this foolishness, now..."

The boy shook his head. "Leave me alone, fat lard bucket!" he yelled.

"Why you—" She reached over and grabbed his arm, squeezing his wrist tightly. For a moment, he glared, before he was soon caught whimpering at the pain, sliding to his knees on the chair as he slipped two fingers into his mouth.

Mr. Wammy immediately stepped in. "Anya, please let him go, you're hurting him."

She raised an eyebrow. "Sometimes, pain is the only way to discipline him suddenly."

He shook his head, and she silenced, letting go as he approached the boy. Wammy stared at the child, before slowly sliding the boy's fingers from his mouth and examining the bite marks on his mainly uninjured hand. "Now, Mihael, it's not good to inflict pain on yourself..." he said softly. The boy watched him quietly, so he continued. "This isn't getting you anywhere, now is it? And you have places you want to go, right?"

Mihael glanced away, then looked up.

Quillsh leaned over and whispered into his ear, "Do you know what you want to be when you grow up?"

The blonde boy shook his head, frowning. Quillsh smiled, patting the boy's shoulder. "That's okay. Come with me, Mihael, let me give you a goal. Now, you'll have to work for it, and it won't be easy, but I see potential in you."

For a moment, the blonde child merely watched him, then soon tugged his hands from his grip, sliding from the chair. With an unsteady grace, he traveled his way on his toes, past the glass, and stood outside of its range. He waved a hand and turned around. "Old hag, have my papers ready in fifteen minutes, will you?"

Anya scowled. How the boy learned his vulgar English, she would never know, but she and Quillsh both interpreted his words as an acceptance to his offering. Quillsh smiled.

Getting him out and ready for a plane ride to England wasn't very easy. He had changed in only around three minutes, wearing a plain black shirt with jeans instead of his uniform, a stuffed dog toy and a Rubik's cube in his hands, and was soon caught fighting Melinda once more as she struggled to place shoes on his tiny feet. He fought through most of the socks, tugging one off as she placed on the other, and she found herself having to hand him a piece of chocolate bar to keep him quiet. It only lasted until he finished, as Anya arranged for his plane ticket on the return flight with Wammy, and he was irritated that he was leaving with a stranger.

He always acted like this, Anya told him again, and wished Quillsh luck as he led the boy away, suitcase in one hand, the boy's hand in the other, as he led the child back to his car. He let Mihael choose to sit wherever he felt, and the boy picked the front seat, eyes roaming every button or item which caught his eye. He didn't push much, but he would let his fingers run along the edges, taking in the feel as he looked at them.

The main trouble didn't begin until they reached the airport. Safety precautions had them both remove their shoes, and the boy began to complain. "First, she forces them onto me, then _she_ wants them off?" he began, irritated with the policy. "What am I, smuggling in armed weapons? There's no way a semi-automatic, or even a handgun, could fit into my shoes. They're a size three in the children's department, and I'm only four years old! What would I do with terrorism or world domination?"

A security guard at the front found himself a bit alarmed at the boy's actions. He didn't know how he was to handle such a mature four-year-old, and soon chose to stare at Wammy. "Please, sir," he said, sounding frightened, "could you get him to calm down and just remove his shoes?"

Wammy sighed and nodded. "Mihael..." he warned calmly. He came to one knee in front of the boy. "Mihael, I know you aren't happy, but you can't go against the transportation policy. If you do not remove your shoes, you won't be coming to London with me. Then we'd have to return you..."

His eyes widened. "You mean... I'd have to go back?!" When Wammy nodded his reply, the child gasped, immediately shaking his head. "No way!" he said immediately, the two toys dropping from his hands as he fell to the ground. He lifted a foot. "Take it off..." As his eyes glanced downward, he soon added a soft "Please..."

Wammy smiled and pulled the shoes and socks from the young boy. The blonde then rose, setting his Rubik's cube and puppy next to his shoes on the small conveyor belt. They crossed through without any conflicts. Mihael took his toys and began to head to the terminal, and Mr. Wammy sighed, having to abandon the items briefly to tug the hyperactive four-year-old back.

Thankfully, they were able to board early, but the stewardesses on the flight that evening made such a fuss over Mihael. He slouched in the chair, his small feet on the edge of the chair, as he hugged the little stuffed toy. In his hands, he held the Rubik's cube and tried to solve it, when the first came over, introducing herself as Harriet. She soon complimented Michael on how adorable he was, and as her friend Francine joined her, they told him he was "such a cute little girl." That had him ready to fight, and he glared, feet dropping from the chair as he sat up.

"I'm a _boy_, you empty yellow paintbucket!" he barked.

Watari returned from his talk with the pilot in time to intervene, placing a calm hand on Mihael's shoulder as he came near. "I'm sorry, ladies, Mihael didn't mean to call you that. He's getting adjusted to his first plane trip."

They awwed at the comment, and as one of the ladies asked him if they could take Mihael to meet the pilot, another brought him a chocolate bar. The boy watched it quietly, and soon he was carried to the front to shake hands with the man flying the airplane, given a pin in the shape of small wings and hugs.

"Do you have any questions you want to ask?" the pilot questioned.

Mihael nodded, clinging to the stewardess in one hand, the chocolate bar in the other, staring intently. "Explain how you know which currents to fly with and against when it comes to the air pressure crossing below and above the wings, and why the engines were placed at the distance they were from the airplane's main body, and the purpose of tail wings."

The pilot was shocked. "Um..." He took a breath. "Well, kid... we fly into the current for the sake of keeping enough momentum of having the plane in the air... The engines are there for speed..."

He continued for around fifteen minutes before Mihael was satisfied enough to let him fly the plane, and soon, Mihael sat in his seat, bouncing rather excitedly for takeoff. It took a few minutes, but soon the plane shifted, and his pale face took on a greenish tint.

"Mihael...?" Wammy asked softly. "D-do you feel sick?"

The boy stared forward, eyes widened, as Wammy was handed a plastic bag. Holding it in front of the boy's face, he helped the kid keep it steady as the child lost his lunch, and breakfast, and possibly even dinner of the day before. For a first plane ride, he seemed to be handling the motion sickness rather well, accepting the 7-Up and quietly sipping it once he managed to stop his vomiting, before leaning on Wammy as he began to sleep.

Watari nudged the boy when the stewardess announced that they would be landing soon. "Mihael, we're touching down…" he said gently.

The boy blinked his eyes open tiredly, confused for a moment, before he bolted upright suddenly. "We're on the plane still?" he asked, his eyes scanning their location. Still on the plane. He turned to the window and peered out, eyes widening. "Oh wow..."

"We're about to land... can you see the airport?"

"Quite a bit of lights..." A small smile formed as he placed a hand on the window. "It's not horrible."

That was interpreted as a sign of approval from the small child, who watched through the window as the plane finally returned to solid ground, and slowly came to a stop in the airport.

"We are now in London, England," said the voice on the intercom, "We hope you enjoyed your flight. Thank you for riding London International Airlines."

Mihael blinked. "Time to go?" he asked.

Watari nodded, surprised at how quickly the boy slid from his seatbelt and shifted into the isle. With a smile, he took the boy's hand and led him off the plane, pausing now and then to let the stewardesses say goodbye to him. Soon, they were walking down a dark corridor, until finally they reached a doorway leading to the airport.

"Mihael, now, before you go to the orphanage... there's a small matter to discuss," Watari spoke.

The boy looked curiously at him as they walked to the baggage claim.

"You'll need a name... anything you want to be called at the House," he said. "There, rarely anybody goes by their real names anymore... you can choose whatever you want to choose."

"Okay..." Mihael said calmly. "I'll think about it."

They walked quietly to the claim, Mihael leaning dangerously close as he looked at the different suitcases and bags which passed about the conveyor belt. It looked really cool, and he was satisfied with watching the luggage slide down and move in a circular pattern. He watched as a blue suitcase passed by him, eyes slowly scanning the nametag.

Soon, he knew. He looked up at Watari sharply. "Mello," he replied.

"Your name?"

"Yes."

Watari smiled. "Okay, Mello." He finally found the suitcase and calmly reached down, taking it from the claim. "Come on now."

The boy hadn't moved yet, still leaning over it.

"Mello... Mello, it's time to go."

Mello waited for a few seconds, until the dark blue suitcase passed by him once more, and then grinned, turning around as he hurried to Watari's side. Taking the man's hand, he grinned up at him. "So, where's this place, anyway?" he began to ask. "Do you own it? Do you live there too or are you just a scout? What's the property's square footage? How many other orphans? How many—"

"Whoa, easy on the questions, Mello..." Watari said, grinning. Mello wasn't so much of a troublemaker, just another inquisitive child with a unique way of showing it. He just had to smile; it would be interesting watching _this_ one grow up.

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**!OwarI!**

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Yeah... so there ya go. I'm still workin' on others but it seemed like I was neglecting my Death Note readers. Sorry, my dears! 

**:Darkness Princess.**


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